


Not A Geisha

by richhousewife



Series: A Geisha-Boy [2]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, blood/bruise fetishism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richhousewife/pseuds/richhousewife
Summary: Sesshomaru watched him pointedly. There was a moment of nothing, of Sesshomaru watching the bear demon, whose smirk grew with each climbing second of silence.“Speak or have your skull join his.” He stated, tossing the blood from his sword with a flick of the wrist.Kong laughed, a hearty chortle from deep in his stomach.“Your inu lives, my lord.”-----------A five part continuation of "A Geisha-Boy".





	1. Prey

**Author's Note:**

> A five part continuation of "A Geisha-Boy". Please adhere to all archive warnings.

Inuyasha was always surrounded by a… most odd grouping of affiliates. Sesshomaru had first spotted them resting within a human village, the same near the forest he’d found the hanyou trapped by arrow. It was morning, with the sun high in the sky by the time they’d dismounted—three humans, a kitsune, and a fire-cat.

When he’d first laid eyes on the inu-pup, he could feel his own lips part in wonder, eyes sweeping his frame, the expanse of his shoulders, the ease of his smile that sat wide and unabashed upon his face. He was a blur of red from Sesshomaru’s perch high in the sky, all movement as he wrestled with the kitsune, chasing him playfully on hands and knees while the others sat nearby, eating from a whicker basket and talking in the sun. There was a serenity in the air alongside the warmth of the summer but none more so than in Inuyasha himself. He was all smirks, contentment apparent in the fluidity of his limbs, the lightness in his movements. He was happy.

These affiliates weren’t affiliates at all—but friends.

Sesshomaru felt a rage he wasn’t prepared for, rooted in a foreign feeling he’d never before experienced, an emotion sparking in the hollows of his chest like embers from a flame.

Jealousy.

* * *

That night, Sesshomaru dreamt a little halfling geisha whose fingers were sticky with fruits and whose breath still smelled of childhood—warm and sweet. He saw himself approach this familiar child, crouched in that same hall, waiting, a smile halving the boys features upon making eye contact.

Sesshomaru had approached after a breath’s hesitation, watching Inuyasha as he was, watching the fat in his cheeks, the flutter of his ears as they sat disproportionately large upon his pubescent frame. It was as if it were happening now, as Sesshomaru was today, grown into adulthood while this Inuyasha remained, frozen in time.

_"Why do you so often find yourself in this hall?"_

The voice was not his own—it seemed to be spoken through him, clear as if he’d spoken the words himself while his own lips remained dormant. Sesshomaru tensed, muscles flexing, body taught with defense as he whipped around, eyes dancing upon his surroundings, growling, watching for the voice’s source.

He glanced back to the child after a moment’s stillness, after he was certain they were alone again, but the child remained no more. In his place was the Inuyasha of recent—strong, able bodied, with long messy hair and hakama the same color of aged blood. His smile was the same.

 _“Because you’re here,”_ he responded, voice changing here, different and familiar all at once.

_“You’re my friend.”_

Sesshomaru woke with enough fury to shake the dead.

* * *

Sesshomaru sparred for three days without rest, anger pushing him, feeding him, forcing him to slice away at his surroundings, his fury both egged and calmed by each drop of spilt blood.

On the fourth day, the palace guards were sent scattering, sent into the lands to find criminals to sacrifice for their lord’s seemingly insatiable appetite for slaughter.

On the fifth, his tutor came to him, handkerchief raised to cover the disgust upon his features as he stepped over the gore of the playing fields. Sesshomaru remained, hacking at his newest victim as if Kong’s insistent questioning was nothing but wind.

On the sixth, there was his mother.

He rammed through his latest victim, his blade buried through the prisoner’s stomach to the hilt, the man’s breath shoved through his teeth like a violent cough. He slumped against Sesshomaru in his final moment, his forehead hot against the ball of Sesshomaru’s shoulder and he paused then, hand remaining atop the hilt of his sword, knuckles brushing the bloodied cloth of his victim’s yukata.

She said nothing, only watched, eyes a shadow of pride as he continued, relentless, bloodthirsty. His ministrations dwindled, the beast in him beginning to calm under his mother’s gaze, under the strength in her presence, the memory in her scent.

He let the silent sit, let this man’s blood spill hot and slow unto the skin of his hands, the excess of it dripping unto his silk clad thigh before he unsheathed his sword from the mans torso, before he let the corpse fall gracelessly to the ground.

The world was still, Sesshomaru’s vision clear for the first time in days.

His mother remained, shoulders back, stance strong, “Come, Sesshomaru,” she began, “Bloodshed will pacify you no longer. Our King must eat.”

* * *

He could feel his mother’s eyes even before she spoke, a steady glance in between sips of broth, a grated clicking of manicured nails atop the glossed wood of the table.

Sesshomaru looked to her, catching her in the act of it, her lips pursed in consideration, eyes bright in intensity.

“What enemy has lit such a fire in my Sesshomaru?” she asked, finally, voice a world calmer than the heat of her eyes gave away, “We shall destroy them on your command. All you must do is speak it.”

Sesshomaru watched her as she spoke, watched the pale yellow of her eyes, the light of her hair fluttering though each movement. There was a breath of silence where they sat, she watching him as he watched her.

And then, “Not an enemy.” He started, eyes still keeping her stare, “A friend.”

She evened her eyes at that, brows furrowed, “A friend who causes such a degree of distress is no friend at all.”

Sesshomaru looked away, contemplative, fingers flexing into themselves as he watched the outside, “Inuyasha has…”

He stopped, jaw setting in indecision. He could feel his fists clenching, his mind flipping through the happenings of late, the heat beginning to bud within the hollows of his chest.

“Your geisha-boy?” his mother asked, blinking in recognition, “You are in mourning then?”

“He lives.” Sesshomaru corrected, glancing to her surprised expression with a look of indifference.

She laughed, “Unexpected!”

He said nothing, watching the humor crack the seriousness in his mother’s expression, watching the glint of her fangs as she smiled.

“ _Well_ —” she began again, “I would hardly consider you all friends—”

Sesshomaru’s fist was thunder atop the wood of the dining table with the silence that ensued directly after ringing just as loudly, his anger flaming, unforgiving in its frequency.

“If not _me_ ,” he countered, breath coming out in low growling puffs of air through clenched teeth, “Then no one.”

Sesshomaru’s mother was silent. Her expression returned to that of concentration, the lift of her brow analytical as she watched him.

“The boy has found a life despite you, and this brings you fury.” She concluded, eyes burning him again, tone sharp enough to cut.

Sesshomaru let his eyes return to the outside, trying to force the calm he’d only just regained. The day was hot, the air dry with the it; still.

“You never did learn how to share.” His mother went on, “You were such a strange child, after all.”

“A result of faulty parenting, no doubt.”

Her smile was soft here, a slight upturn of the lips as she spoke, “No doubt.”

Sesshomaru let the silence stretch, contemplative.

“I did for him what no one else would,” he began again, claws tapping, eyes unseeing, “And yet, he leaves. He travels with a band of humans. He finds happiness in _them_.”

Clawed fingers curled into themselves again, his mind flashing back to the little hanyou child waiting on the wooded floors of that teahouse.

“You’ve hurt him possibly more than anyone in this world, sweet Sesshomaru.” She told after a pause, after a moment’s hesitation, “Prey has never befriended predator.”

* * *

 

Sesshomaru thought to his mother’s words as he stalked the hanyou, watching him from trees, from the sky, from the shadows—like a mountain lion prowling its meal.

The inu-pup was the same as always, just _more_. He was unashamed; speaking loudly, laughing even louder. His hair was a mess of thick white tendrils, left to fall unevenly about the expanse of his shoulders and down to the curve of his waist, as if Inuyasha himself had taken to chopping it off with his own claws when it got long enough to bother. Gone were the forced mannerisms of the geisha and in its place were no manners at all, a slew of swears and insults in every sentence and directed towards anyone around.  Sesshomaru watched him as he led the group, yelling, huge bouts of anger fueled by worry and badly covered by aggression.

He had a sword now, with a blade wrapped in magic. He was as erratic when on the violent end of a fight as Sesshomaru remembered him to be—surviving off of blunt force and dumb luck whenever he needed to. His attacks had remained as unpredictable as the wind in a hellstorm and, perhaps, this impulsivity is what kept him alive.

It was a moonless summer night within the heart of the forest the first time Sesshomaru was again in arms reach of Inuyasha. The boy was alone when he’d spotted him from the sky, a smudge of red atop the thick of a low tree branch. Sesshomaru could feel his brow furrow as he descended, leaving his dragons by a steady stream and sifting through the trees until he reached the boys resting place. Sesshomaru was quiet as he approached, leaping from his vantage point and unto the moss of the forest floor soundlessly.

Inuyasha was human, with a sweep of dark hair concealing the bulk of his expression but the deep rumble in his breathing was enough to discern his slumber. Sesshomaru stepped closer after a breath’s hesitation, his feet undetectable atop the forest floor and his eyes hungry for him, sweeping his frame and cataloguing every detail revealed to him by their proximity.

He was bigger, that much was for certain, but not as big as Sesshomaru had expected. Standing amongst his peers had made him out to be larger by comparison, but alone with Sesshomaru’s own girth as the only reference point, the inu was still near miniature in stature—still breakable. He felt the darkness in him awaken at that, the heat in his stomach beginning to stir as he watched the steady rise and fall of Inuyasha’s chest, as his mind began to get dark with lust, as his head got heavy with Inuyasha scent—like nature but sharper, like the gut of a teabag.

Sesshomaru had never felt desire towards a human before this night and the thought of it both mortified and intrigued him all at once. He wanted to know if they felt everything as easily as they felt pain, if Inuyasha’s human body would give in as quickly as his bones would break.

Then—a hare sprinting though the forestry, rustling through fallen leaves and dead vines and Sesshomaru leapt backwards just in time for the inu-pups delayed response, just in time to be concealed by the darkness as Inuyasha whipped awake from the noise of an unknown intruder.

Human eyes bounced around through the darkness, the blanket of night too heavy for him to associate the danger as eminent or fleeting. Sesshomaru remained, immobile, watching him as he calmed himself, as he let his eyes flutter closed and allowed his ears to be his vision, as he let the sounds of the earth tell on his surroundings. The hare was retreating, its movement getting farther away as the seconds ticked on, as it continued its journey and Inuyasha relaxed, shoulders dropping as he raked a clawless hand through thick dark strands of hair, clearing his face of it and leaning as he was against the bulk of the tree.

His face was… different. Where there was once youth rounding his cheeks, there was now the bone structure of a man. The sharp angle of his jaw was strong, framing the mild set of his lips, near red in the summer heat. His nose sat pointed but tilted slightly to the left of his features, as if it had been broken and healed within moments of each other.

Inuyasha was wide awake now, watching the stars in the sky as he waited, for either sleep or the suns rising Sesshomaru didn’t know. His eyes were the same as if he was still a pup, still challenging—resilient. Still hopeful. For what, Sesshomaru may never understand. But, too, there was understanding there now, within the dark of his eyes. He was still as he watched the night sky, free from expectation and thriving in it, thriving within the space he’d created.

Sesshomaru felt his mind tear in indecision, his body at war with itself. He desired the hanyou as he was, tonight, _now_. The animal in him wanted to rip Inuyasha from his perch, wanted to curl a hand at the base of his neck and take him right here at the floor of the forest, face down; fully submissive—wanted to feel just how much his body had changed, wanted to hear him, to see how far this body could take Sesshomaru before buckling under him, before letting him eat him whole.

But his mind kept flashing back, filtering in images of the hanyou as he sat so many summers ago, small and determined atop the marble of Sesshomaru’s balcony. Angry, watching the ground below as if death itself might be a better fate than anything else waiting for him at the start of another day. He thought of the little geisha-boy seated on the floors of that teahouse.

He retreated.

The beast in him howled for days.


	2. Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait,” he began, clawed hands forming fists inside the red of his yukata, “You been fucking watching me?”
> 
> His mind flashed to that strangling scent, to his own rage, to kisses from the sky.
> 
> “Hn,” Sesshomaru hummed, eyes still burning Inuyasha in their intensity, “Not that you made it difficult.”  
> \-----------  
> Inuyasha wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Inuyasha was _exhausted_. He nestled deeper unto the pink comforter of Kagome’s bed, letting the wild of his hair fall into his vision to shield his eyes from the blinding artificial light of this time. He feigned sleep in hopes that she’d leave him be, in hopes for some quiet for _five_ _fucking_ _minutes_.

“Inuyasha—are you even _listening_?”

No, he wasn’t.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard everything ya’ said, don’t have a fucking baby.”

She said nothing, seething in silence, the quiet filling the room like something tangible as they sat, he lying lazily across her mattress and she sitting atop the cool of her desk chair. He let himself relax, shoulders slumping and toes flexing before he heard it—the careful creak from the glossy wood of her chair, socked feet trying hard to be light as they crept across the carpeted floor—sounds like an avalanche in his ears as she snuck, trying to catch him while in unawares.

He allowed it for a few moments, playing her game back on her, letting her steps get just close enough for him to pounce, jumping too quick for her eyes to register, too quick for her to turn back. He shot from his perch and unto her shoulders, bringing them both down to the soft of the floor in fits of laughter so intense, they were fighting for breath by the end of it.

And then it was just them, tangled limbs and rushed breath upon the floor of her bedroom. Her skin was cool and soft against the palm of his hand, an accidental touch birthed from their proximity and these were the moments he loved.

But then his eyes flashed down, a peak of that strange material caging the skin of her breast, black and intoxicating in its pattern against the fair of her skin. He looked away, face heating, heart beginning to beat uncomfortably hard against his ribcage and he made the mistake of looking to her eyes then, the greys of them stormy with an emotion Inuyasha wasn’t ready to think about.

“G-get up, would’ja?” he stuttered, “You ain’t as light as you used to be.”

Her face soured almost immediately, “You’re such a _jerk_!”

She shoved him away, plopping back into her perch with arms crossed and lips pouted. He looked to the floor then, cheeks still reddening, fingers beginning to shake in that way they did when things like this happened—when someone got too close.

He glanced to her after a moment, watching the innocence in her stare as she moved on from him, attention back into a schoolbook whose letterings across the cover he couldn’t understand. A little pink tongue poked out from her lips in concentration, brows furrowed as she tried to decipher whatever secrets were sprawled across those pages. She never stayed mad long.

Inuyasha watched her and found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could let her love him. He wished he could. He just couldn’t.

* * *

 

They’d been traveling when he’d smelled it. Rode in on a slight shift in the wind, a wave of scents from west as apposed to east, the smell of night so distinct it was as if Sesshomaru was there, as if Inuyasha was transported back sixty years within a matter of seconds.

He stumbled, his stomach dropping almost immediately as he caught himself just in time to avoid tumbling downward into the trenches of the forest. His feet burned from the friction in the grass and suddenly he couldn’t still himself, his thoughts racing, his body wanting to throw up and punch a hole through something at the same time and this feeling—this angry fear was too much and too familiar.

He hadn’t realized he’d been growling, snarling, his expression made from nightmares until his friends did, until Kagome was there, in his vision, reaching for him—

And then he ran.

He chased it, the scent— _his_ scent—because self-destruction was more comfortable than complacency. He chased it through the trees, zipping through the air for what felt like a lifetime until there was nowhere left to go. Until the trees cleared and in front of him were the greens of a plain, nothing but featherlight weeds sprouting and stopping at his hip. And suddenly, like the trees, the scent was no more—gone as if Sesshomaru had disappeared into thin air.

Inuyasha remained dormant, breathing short shallow breaths, feeling like his head was too light and too heavy all at once, feeling like he’d lost his mind, feeling like destroying everything in sight.

He took an angry swipe at the heads of the weeds, soft plant buds floating like confetti through the air as he continued, as he destroyed the innocence of nature until he fell to his knees, until he cursed the sky so loudly and so surely, his throat was scratched raw from just the first two words.

“FUCK YOU!” he’d screamed, not caring that the birds were scattering, that the earth itself seemed to be one big blur of hot white noise, “ _FUCK YOU_ , **_FUCK YOU_** , **_FUCK YOU_**!”

He punched at the dirt in the ground as he continued, soil flying, shots like pellets across the skin of his face, the tears running down his cheeks hot enough to burn, “YOU FUCKING COWARD. YOU _FUCKING_ COWARD. COME DOWN HERE AND FUCKING TRY ME NOW YOU GODDAMN FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

He buckled, kneeling in the dirt with his fingers muddied, splatters of soil clinging to his face and tangled within the mess of his hair. His only response was the whisper of the wind. The anger deflated from him like spilled water from a spicket, leaving nothing in its place, leaving a tired that ran bone deep. Inuyasha looked to the sky, to the clouds nestled airily against the blue of the atmosphere and envisioned the eyes of his mother looking back at him.

A single raindrop fell to him, splattering against the dead of his forehead and he scoffed, shaking his head in mild surprise as the drizzle began its steady rhythm, a sweet summer rain that’s drops landed as soft as kisses from the sky.

He let the rain wash away what it could—the lighter flicks of mud caking the skin of his hands, the tears drying against his face, and maybe some of the sadness too.

* * *

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quiet for this long.”

“Yeah—me neither. It’s kinda freaky.”

Inuyasha scowled, walking ahead of the group and wishing for the first time in history that his human night would come early if only to be spared the details of this conversation. They continued whispering under the guise that he couldn’t hear them—as if their voices weren’t like the squabble of two wild birds in his ear.

“I wonder why he got so angry earlier… it was like he couldn’t even see us.” Sango whispered, cautious of her tone but still missing by a longshot.

“I don’t know,” Kagome responded, “And then to disappear like that? It’s like he glitched or something.”

There was a moment of nothing.

And then: “What’s a glitch?”

He was in the motion of whirling around, ready to give them something to gossip about when Miroku interfered, the trinkets of his staff like the song of a wind chime as he spoke, as he told of their arrival to the human village.

Inuyasha had never been happier. He veered left, jumping off into the opposite direction—opting to sleep in the trees.

He’d only just gotten to a good one, his favorite kind of branch—the type that grew just flat enough for him to balance, just thick enough for support—when he realized she’d followed after him. He rolled his eyes so far back, he thought they might get stuck that way.

He startled her when he dropped down, a firm landing two feet from where she was walking, clumsily, defenseless in the night air.

“ _Inuyasha_!” she gasped, “Just what the heck are you trying to do—”

“Oi, wench, you’re gonna get yourself killed out here.” He grabbed her arm, walking, leading them backwards, “Lucky it was just me.”

“You can get yourself killed too ya know—” she started, stumbling, struggling to keep up with his pace in the dark, “I’m just worried about you!”

Inuyasha slowed, sympathetic, trying to calm the screaming in his head. They walked in silence, his hand still gripping her forearm—an unnecessary touch he didn’t even know he needed.

“Ain’t got nothing to worry about,” he muttered, finally.

They approached the village then, the trees clearing into a dirt path. Kagome hesitated, brows knitted in concern, eyes darkened with it. Inuyasha’s expression softened, “Keh—quit looking at me like a lost dog.” He said, knocking her playfully on the jaw, “I’m fine. Promise.”

She pouted, eyes still holding his but her expression relaxing, “You’re the lost dog,” she whispered, smiling in that way of hers, the way that made him wish.

“Keh, let me get some sleep, will ya’?” he started, releasing her at last, “Its enough to hear you squawking all day without having to hear it in my _dreams_ —”

She stopped his words mid-sentence, crushing him into a hug tighter than you’d think she was capable. He let the scent of jasmine fill his nose, the too sweet scent of whatever creams she always carried filling his senses before he let his hands come up and rest on the small of her back.

She smiled again, releasing him and turning to hike up the hill. He watched her until she disappeared behind the wooden shoji, a sleepy wave thrown over her shoulder before ducking inside.

Inuyasha wished he could follow after her, wished he could sleep in the same vicinity as his friends---wished he could sleep in the same vicinity as anyone. He wished he could sleep without his mind going dark, he wished he could separate his night terrors from real life. But he couldn’t do any of those things. And he’d rather die than wake up in the dead of night damn near pissing himself in front of an audience.

He turned then, preparing himself to reenter the forestry, to find another favorite branch when he’d heard it. A slight hum, the rumble of a demon’s throat before the growl.

Inuyasha’s breath froze in his lungs, his heart all the sudden too big within his chest, muscles tensing to an unnatural degree as he whipped around, eyes jumping in the darkness. But there was no one, just the heavy expanse of forestry, the unforgiving heat of the summer.

And then Sesshomaru was there—in front of him, close enough to touch upon inhale. He’d leapt from somewhere above, landing without so much as a hair out of place—without making a single sound to announce his arrival and Inuyasha jumped backwards, stumbling to a stop a few feet away as he witnessed, as he tried to get his mind to come away from the shock of it.

Sesshomaru was as huge as Inuyasha remembered him to be when they were younger, when Inuyasha thought he was the strongest person in the world. His eyes were hooded as he watched the flexing of his own clawed fingers, menacing in his silence, the magenta markings striping the base of each eyelid and the crescent moon adorning his forehead staring to Inuyasha almost as boldly as if he’d been looking to him in the eye.

Inuyasha remained frozen where he stood, his mind stuttering over a million thoughts at once, the voice in his head seemingly in a panic as he watched the lord standing near blinding in the white silk attire of a king, silver strands glistening even in the pale moonlight from a ponytail at the top of his skull.

“She pursues you.” He spoke at last, voice slow, tone deeper than Inuyasha remembered “Your… strange priestess. Yet, you deny her.” Sesshomaru looked up, passed him, yellowed eyes watching the human village, watching the wooden shoji, “It is because you are afraid of history repeating itself? The priestess before was not as kind.”

“You shut your fucking mouth about her,” Inuyasha’s voice surprised even himself; a grating low rumble of a sound, “You shut your _fucking_ mouth about _everything_ —”

Sesshomaru looked to him then and Inuyasha felt his jaw lock, watching the pure ferocity in the lord’s stare—an anger his eyes told boldly even as his voice was a monotone of calm.

Then it clicked, Inuyasha’s brain connecting the dots, suddenly, too quick for Inuyasha to make sense of all at once.

“Wait,” he began, clawed hands forming fists inside the red of his yukata, “You been fucking _watching_ me?”

His mind flashed to that strangling scent, to his own rage, to kisses from the sky.

“Hn,” Sesshomaru hummed, eyes still burning Inuyasha in their intensity, “Not that you made it difficult.”

Inuyasha could feel his teeth ground, the anger almost blinding now, hands flashing to the hilt of his sword—body wound tight and ready for the violence his temperament craved. But he hesitated. His eyes jumped to that wooden shoji, a mistake, a movement that gave away too much, a movement that had Sesshomaru doing the same—yellow gaze heating as his vision returned to the human village, clawed fingers flexing in on themselves again.

“Do the humans know of your origin?”

Inuyasha swallowed, fingers tightening on the tattered cloth covering the base of his blade, hard enough to snap. Sesshomaru let his eyes return to him, let the full sculp of his rage be translated in that single glance.

“I thought not. They know nothing of you, really.” He paused, “They know not of to whom you belong.”

The metallic ring of Inuyasha’s sword becoming unsheathed was all Inuyasha could hear, his vision blurred with the madness of it as he spoke, voice hissed through clenched teeth.

“I don’t belong to fucking _no one_ , you _psychotic piece of shit_!”

Inuyasha doesn’t know who moved first, doesn’t know who threw the first hit, all he knew was hot white movement—Sesshomaru like lightning as he swiped, movements not to kill but to punish. But Inuyasha was faster now, bigger and stronger than when they’d last met and he used this as an advantage, used his last hundred years of foraging for himself, of fighting bigger demons—of surviving.

He swung high and strong, missing until he didn’t, until he landed a shallow wound to the full bloods abdomen and this infuriated Sesshomaru, fury that had him grabbing for the hanyou, missing by mere centimeters as Inuyasha dodged him but only for a moment. Sesshomaru raked four claws across Inuyasha’s cheek, mirroring the gore of so many years prior and Inuyasha hissed from the sting of it, enraged further, fighting harder, swinging, aiming for his neck, aiming for a final blow that he’d dreamed of since seated upon the cold marble of that balcony.

Sesshomaru moved quickly, dodging the blow to the neck at the last second, quick enough to dodge an almost death but not watching for every part of himself. Inuyasha’s blade missed his neck and caught the bone of his forearm, ringing through the cartilage like it was made form margarine—an accident that had Sesshomaru’s hand severed from his body and landing with a thud atop the soil of the ground below.

They both stopped.

Sesshomaru leapt away, landing opposite of his opponent, clutching the bloodied stump under his sleeve, now soaked in red and dripping towards the ground below. Inuyasha didn’t even know how to breathe as he watched him, eyes dancing, his own blood clotting across the wounds of his face, Sesshomaru’s hand glaring menacingly within the soil at his feet, the twin stripes upon his wrist glowing through the splatters of blood.

He’d looked to Sesshomaru with eyes wide, jaw slack in astonishment. The young lord was messy, more so than Inuyasha had ever seen him, with an expression that was both raging and dripping with disbelief, one remaining clawed hand protectant of his wound, chest heaving as he stood returning Inuyasha’s stare with one of his own.

And then there was noise from the human village, running, shouting towards them and Inuyasha threw a glance over his shoulder, trance broken as Miroku spotted them with Kagome and the others following behind and Inuyasha went to stop them, beginning to scream at them to stay where they were— _for_ _once_ —just worry about themselves but before he could even get the words passed his teeth, Sesshomaru was gone.

The only thing left of him were Inuyasha’s wounds, the inhumane sting telling of claws through the soft skin of his cheek, and the severed hand, limp and lifeless on the ground at his feet. His eyes never left it, even as his friends approached, yelling, pulling him, examining his injuries and asking questions Inuyasha couldn’t hear.

Questions Inuyasha didn’t even know if he had the answers to.

* * *

 

“He’s quiet again…” Sango whispered, voice ineffectively hushed as they walked again through the summer heat.

“Yea, and it’s still freaky.”

Inuyasha ignored them—again—walking ahead with clawed hands hidden in the sleeves of his yukata. The bandage across his face was thick with medicine, clogging his nostrils with the dense smell of sickness. The heat of the day was record breaking, making his clothes heavy with it, sticky with sweat against his skin. The day was turning out to be a real shit-stain.

And yet, his mind was at peace for the first time since they’d removed the arrow from his heart.

He thought of Sesshomaru’s severed hand, of the prince’s twisted expression.

He snorted before he could stop himself, snickering under his breath, smirking with eyes bright as he looked ahead.

“I think he’s _laughing_ …”

“Now _that’s_ even _freakier…”_


	3. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sesshomaru had always been quicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten my heart and my laptop broken since last chapter's posting. But I've just gotten a new laptop and i'm working on the rest! You all's wonderful comments have helped more than you know.
> 
> Aside from that, I hope to end this story in five chapters as opposed to three.

Sesshomaru found himself lost in strange memories while he was injured, while blood ran from the jagged stump of his arm by the gallon and it seemed every person occupying his home was flying in panic around him. He was hot and cold all at once, his eyes swimming in unsteady fevered movements as he disappeared into his own mind, reality and the pictures flashing behind his eyes becoming the same in those few moments of lucidity before unconsciousness.

He remembered the disbelief he felt as a pup when first witnessing his father strike his mother.

Sesshomaru had hardly reached nine summers when he’d been in their chambers without permission, without knowledge. He remembers walking to his father’s table, a sturdy oak that sat heavy and strong near the end of the room, a home to the many swords he’d collected since before Sesshomaru existed. There were many stories of how the great Lord obtained these swords but Sesshomaru’s favorite was one told amongst the prisoners of war as they lay shaking, their voices strained from dehydration, their stories always the same—that InuTashio befriended the devil himself before being born into this world and these swords were gifts from the darkest pits of hell.

Sesshomaru’s eyes licked over each blade, looking to them and seeing the happenings of the fight, seeing the flicker of Hell’s fire behind his eyes.

He’d heard them before seeing them, the strong sure steps of his father, like a steady beat of a drum. His mother was speaking, her voice an angry tremble Sesshomaru had never heard before as she neared the rooms entrance, throwing the shoji open with force enough to crack its sheath.

His father’s voice was roaring, yelling huge bouts of anger to her back as she glided across the space, seating herself at her vanity with limbs as light as the petals of a flower. This angered his father further, Sesshomaru could see it, saw the charge of his father’s steps, saw the happenings of things before they’d even played out, could have told the story with his eyes closed.

He’d yanked her by the arm, snatching her so that they were face to face, so that his mother was forced onto the tips of her toes as she was pulled to his height, flush, chest to chest. Sesshomaru had never been so still, the thump of his heart so loud he was afraid it’d give him away, afraid that his parents would hear through the heat of their dispute—but they hadn’t. They remained supremely focused on each other, the then king’s back to Sesshomaru with the hard lines of his shoulders telling of his rage just as plainly as the fire painted across his hidden expression. But Sesshomaru did see his mother, the pale lavender of her hair misplaced, landing in disarray about her frame and across her face as she glared at him with enough heat to diminish even the bravest of soldiers.

Her words then were like the eye of the storm, calm within chaos, the blue of the flame.

“I’ve never known a King to be so _weak_.”

Sesshomaru’s jaw went slack. He doesn’t even know if he breathed then, his heart before an uncontrollable thumping mass now seemingly dormant in his chest as his limbs froze within the silks of his robes.

And then he’d slapped her.

A paw sized backhand that’d had his mother sprawling to the ground from impact and Sesshomaru had to physically stop himself from audibly reacting, from running to her, from protecting her from the monster his father had become. But he waited, knowing in his heart that the fierce beast his mother contained would not allow such a blatant and physical display of disrespect—Sesshomaru knew his mother was going to make sure such a mistake was never repeated.

She clamped an elegant clawed hand over the underside of her face, looking up to the lord with eyes wide, with stare nearly at a glow and Sesshomaru braced himself, screaming at his mother within his own mind words of encouragement, reminding her that she had an ally in him even if she didn’t know it.

But she remained. A grim line of wine colored blood began to seep between the lines of her fingers, forming a single drop that fell and pattered to the marble of the floors beneath her fallen form and Sesshomaru saw his father charge again in the silence, saw his hand raise a second time and before he could come down again, Sesshomaru was there, racing, running to her on still underdeveloped legs, hardly five feet grown but willing to be the strictest barrier he could be if it meant he’d never have to see his mother being striked to the ground a second time.

They both startled as he bursted from the shadows of the space, forcing himself between them, neck craned almost in half as he stared to his father with a look that almost identically mirrored his mother’s—like the eye of the storm, calm within chaos, the blue of the flame.

They remained that way for a few tense moments of nothing, father looking down to son as he stood small but sure in his own bravado, in his own determination.

And then he’d left, turning on his heel and closing the shoji in the same manner his mother had but this time, succeeding in cracking the screen’s sheath from force of misuse.

Sesshomaru released a breath he hadn’t even realized was being trapped within his chest. He let his hands uncurl from their fists as he turned, facing his mother without hesitation and retrieving a silken handkerchief from the breast of his robes.

Her expression was that of nightmares as she looked passed Sesshomaru, eyes lit with anger and wet with unshed tears. Sesshomaru could smell the distress upon her frame like a garment of wool; heavy and strong.

“I am never far, mother.” He assured after a moment, the loyalty blooming within his torso like the peak of a rose in the mid of summer.

Her eyes jumped back to him then, softening after a moment of indecision, a moment of calm.

His mother was made from power—everyone in the palace said so. They’d said she had magic coursing through her veins, that their queen would sparkle in light of bleeding, that she could make even the strongest men disintegrate into dust with a flick of those icy yellow irises.

But she hadn’t done any of those things. She’d bled, just as an ordinary woman would—the air was coppered with the scent of it—and Sesshomaru was sure if she could disintegrate anyone with a look, the one she’d settled his father with would have been it.

He’d had so many questions. He wanted to know why she’d allowed his father to assault her, why she didn’t retaliate, why she was going to let him do it a second time.

In the end, he said nothing.

His mother needn’t prove her strength for anyone, not even himself.

* * *

 

“How could you _allow_ this!”

Sesshomaru said nothing, darkly amused as he watched the bandage wrapping his forearm, blood drying still at its tip and staining the white cotton of the material a rusted red. He strangely felt like the appendage was still there, like he could flex invisible fingers, pick at nonexistent claws.

“You should have his head on a spike—No,” she continued, voice a deadly low and dipped in a growl, “You should have delivered his body to be burned alive for _daring_ to mar the King of these lands in such a way.”

The doctor was here now, entering the space with fresh rolls of bandaging and bowing until his nose near touched his knees. Sesshomaru extended his arm without comment, with less than a glance at the bird demon—his mind looping the image of the hanyou, fully grown, fighting with the strength of one hundred men, fighting with untrained movements that were too erratic and too hard to predict. He remembered the power in his limbs as he wielded his sword, swiping without resistance, golden stare intense with focus on his opponent.

“He is strong.”

His mother paused, eyes evened upon him, fanged teeth clenched to such a degree, he could see the muscle dancing within her jaw.

“Too strong to kill?” she hissed, stare lit with ferocity.

Sesshomaru eyed the disfigured stump as the doctor uncovered it in preparation for redressing. His skin had begun to grow over the exposed flesh, creating a frightening pocket of a scar, bright red and misshapen.

“I do not wish it.” he answered finally, looking to her then, eyes holding hers for a terse moment of silence as the doctor worked between them, his movements quick and precise.

“You do not _wish_ _it?_ ”

“Hn,” he hummed, eyes returning to the bandage crisscrossing the skin of his arm, “You can reattach it, can you not?”

The doctor jumped, panic lacing his scent with sweat, “My King, I do apologize but—”

“Silence yourself.” Sesshomaru commanded. The doctors mouth clamped shut with an audible _click_.

He let his eyes flicker upwards, returning immediately to those that mirrored so closely to his own, “Speak.”

She let the silence sit for a few moments longer, stare unwavering. Sesshomaru was reminded briefly then of his fever dream, of icy irises so cold, they could disintegrate even the strongest men with just a look.

“It is a possibility.” She answered, teeth clenched.

Sesshomaru looked back to the doctor’s shaking hands, rewrapping his wound with deft fingers.

“Hn…” he began, “Then, you will.”

* * *

His army combed the lands for three days before they’d found it, near buried and half disintegrated. It was a cold, dead thing when presented to him; once sunless white skin near grey with jagged broken claws and a powerful odor of decay wafting from it like an animate thing. A translucent green liquid seeped from its pores, dripping steadily even now from the tips of broken nails—poison that had warded off any living thing with promise of a slow death.

The process was unexpected.

His mother opened a multitude of windows within his chambers, allowing the natural light of the sun to seep into every possible crevice. One of the servants carried a broth of animals blood, its scent peppered with spices Sesshomaru didn’t recognize and its surface sitting still and dark enough for him to see his own reflection when glancing over the metal lip of the pot. He eyed the substance distrustfully, looking up in time to catch his mother’s smirk as she turned from him, gathering contorted brown roots she’d before placed on Sesshomaru’s side table, its limbs twig like with feathered veins prominent and spiraling upon the brown of its flesh.

“Do we not firstly _wash_ it?” he’d hissed, lips curled in disgust as they’d brought the hand to the table in front of him, its stench near making his eyes water.

“It must remain as it was when severed.” His mother answered, “We must not disrupt its natural state.”

Sesshomaru evened his eyes upon her. She met his stare after a moment, her expression feigning innocence but the mischief escaping through the set of her brow.

“My Sesshomaru,” she cooed, approaching, “Relax yourself.”

Sesshomaru said nothing. He watched her seat herself adjacent from him, next to that horrid _thing_ that sat, waiting to be reattached.

The pain was immeasurable.

A backwards wound, like being gutted from the inside, like the burn of ice water on searing flesh. The energy of her magic sparked across Sesshomaru’s own skin with a reverence, pushing against him like a thousand needles prodding at his flesh and then concentrating all at once to the misshapen stump of his forearm, a wave of pain that worsened the longer the ordeal continued.

But through it, he saw his mother.

Her eyes were set aglow even as they’d fluttered closed, orange behind the delicate blue veins webbing across her eyelids. Power seemed to breathe through her, heaving her chest upwards and exhaling strength, exhaling the healing that was now shirking through his flesh like the gouge of a knife in his veins. His mind flashed back to piercing yellow eyes staring up to the broken shoji, to his father’s open-handed assault and his mother’s inhibited retaliation.

Sesshomaru’s mother needn’t prove her power to anyone. Those with real power never do.

* * *

His mother recovered for nine nights and ten days. During that time, Sesshomaru remained. He sat in on the small council meetings, he trained, he received tutoring, relearned the history of his lands. His feet never touched the grounds below, he never strayed from his mother’s side so long as she rested.

But in that time, his mind ran rampant.

Anytime his eyes flickered downwards, catching the flesh of his hand in passing, he thought to the hanyou. The appendage was near identical to its other save for the jagged line encircling his wrist, a bracelet made of scarring where the dead had met the living. Severed during dueling, bloodshed savagely earned and taken without hesitation.

Inuyasha was _strong_ now. He had felt it, seen it in the lucidity of the hanyou’s limbs, in the confidence of his blade. Sesshomaru found himself infatuated with the thought of the challenge, with the test of muscle not there last they’d touch. He thought to this as he walked his castle walls, thought to bending this stronger version of his geisha-boy, thought to the taught muscles lining Inuyasha’s abdomen stretched flat as the hanyou’s back arched under Sesshomaru’s ministrations—he wondered if Inuyasha’s back would still arch into that perfect ‘C’ as he entered him, as Sesshomaru stretched him out, made him into a shape specific to his king.

And then—a strangeness occurring during sleep.

He dreamt of the hanyou. This in itself was not uncommon, seeing Inuyasha crumpled under the push of Sesshomaru’s body as the geisha lay with his back flush against the marble floorings and his body fully open to the full blood’s will. But this time Sesshomaru saw it happening as if he were a bystander, looking in on his own private moment as a third party. He saw himself pushing into the hanyou, saw the wild of their hair blending together, fluid silver strands tangling against thick white locs as this Sesshomaru pushed into him with the tan of Inuyasha’s legs nothing but bent knees poking out on either side of him.

And then it’d happened. Inuyasha’s hand, sun browned and calloused, hooking under the full-bloods arm to grab at the muscles of Sesshomaru’s back and Sesshomaru could feel it now, the rough skin of his hanyou’s hand as he gripped, could feel Inuyasha’s sweet breath against his chin from under him, could hear Inuyasha’s breathing begin to hike from the sensation—from enjoyment. And Sesshomaru looked down then, looking to the pleasure contorting his geisha’s expression into pure eroticism—reddened lips disappearing in between fanged teeth, eyes half lidded, heavy with pleasure, brows crooked in concentration.

That night, he’d dreamt Inuyasha came to him willingly. And he hadn’t been able to put it out of his mind since.

* * *

Eleven days after healing him, his mother awakened just as night fell. Sesshomaru was mounting his dragons before the sun had even begun to make its appearance upon the horizon.

And it was like déjà vu when he’d found him again, like they’d done since they were children, like Sesshomaru couldn’t seem to stop doing.

He seeked the hanyou out until he’d spotted him amongst the others, slow to rise in the morning sun—distracted by their tiredness, by their eventual destination, by each other.

They made eye contact first, naturally. But Inuyasha’s timing was too late. Sesshomaru had always been quicker.


	4. Reincarnated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sayin’… There’s a special kind of strength that comes from surviving. And… and I think you survived a hell of a lot more than the rest of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you didn't forget about me! An extra long chapter since you all have been so patient. 
> 
> This story will have a happy ending. One chapter left!

Getting fucking _tackled_ by Sesshomaru felt like getting caught on the wrong end of a falling boulder. Inuyasha didn’t have the breath left in him after impact, after the bulk of the full bloods weight seemingly fell from the sky and unto his shoulders and Inuyasha was struggling then, his entire body tense to the point of panic, suddenly, his heart thumping a deafening beat within his chest.

Pellets of soil exploded upon landing, two full grown adult males flying and hitting the earth tangled within a heap of combatting limbs and gritted teeth and Inuyasha’s head was spinning, the breath knocked out of him, suffocating in a world full of air. He felt the heat in his chest beginning to ignite—that body numbing anger a familiar numbness to his senses.

He freed a clawed hand as soon as he was able, aiming, shooting a closed fist right to the tip of the full blood’s jaw but being stopped at the last possible moment by his counterpart, a paw sized appendage twice his own slamming his fist to the earth below, hard enough to imprint the dirt beneath them. Inuyasha doesn’t remember when he found air again, only when he was deafened by his own breathing, like wind in a hailstorm against his own ears and he was yelling now, a slew of profanities, voice wrung in fury, dipped in desperation.

Sesshomaru was staring to him, studying his movements, molten yellow gaze never leaving Inuyasha as his chest heaved from below the lord’s still larger frame, his own golden irises jumping in panic.

And then he froze—because Sesshomaru was _caging_ him—both arms restraining the skin of Inuyasha’s wrist, the skin of his previously _very_ severed and _very_ dead right hand burning hot against Inuyasha forearm and—

“What the _fuck!_ ”

Inuyasha scrambled then, trying to get away from this undead _thing_ grasping his person, trying and failing as the dog king remained immobile, his expression near bored from above. Sesshomaru felt like a goddamn village in one man, a thousand pounds sitting on his chest, a thousand long streams of silver hair pooling on either side of his struggling frame and nothing but the smell of night—like the blanketing scent of rain before a thunderstorm—and then his mind was jumping backwards again, memories he’d be sooner buried with before reliving and so Inuyasha found himself growling against it, his eyes bleeding, his body screaming a thousand different thoughts but his mouth centering on just one:  
  
“Why can’t you ever just _leave me alone!”_

He spoke through gritted teeth, the world blurring through his frustration.

And still, Sesshomaru remained, his eyes searching Inuyasha through the silence. There was a breeze, a warm breath of air from the sky that had Sesshomaru’s hair dancing around them before settling again, strands as delicate as threads from a spider’s web against Inuyasha’s skin. There was a moment of emptiness, as if they were frozen together in time, Sesshomaru’s calm almost as unnerving as his rage. He was thinking, Inuyasha realized. Sesshomaru was seething in his silence, the set of his brows giving away his mind’s confliction.

“Contrarily,” he began, suddenly, eyes never leaving, “It is you who is plaguing me.”

Twice Inuyasha could remember being rendered speechless. There was once, right before Inuyasha had left the teahouse—the first and last time. When he’d gone to his sensei as promised—slipping into his chambers on a night so cold, Inuyasha could feel the chill to his bones. The bird demon had smiled at him, wise enough to expect him, maybe even wise enough to know he’d live through the wildness of the outside world—to know he’d _thrive_ in it.

He’d given Inuyasha a sword, wrapped in burlap and handed forth by soft aging hands.

His grandfather’s, then his mother’s, now his.

The weapon thrummed with power against Inuyasha’s palms, steadying him, a zap of energy—an immediate connection—and Inuyasha was moved to silence, feeling the cool of the swords sheath against his hands, feeling the foreign weight against his fingers, his eyes watching the blades sheath with absolute awe.

There was then, and then there was now.

Sesshomaru’s eyes were burning in their intensity—watching Inuyasha like he was a puzzle, like he was the only thing left in the world. Inuyasha felt his jaw expand, lips parting in preparation to say something—anything.

Inuyasha wanted to tell him that he’d gladly give his own two legs if it meant never having to see Sesshomaru for the rest of his days. Inuyasha wanted to tell Sesshomaru how much he _hated_ him, more than he’d hated anything, more than he hated the disease that took his mother’s breath. Inuyasha wanted him to know how starved he was for something Sesshomaru had forced him into fearing, how lonely it was to be petrified of affection and starved of it in the same heartbeat. Inuyasha wanted Sesshomaru to know how he hadn’t slept more than two hours at a time since that night, how, sometimes, he fought until his hands ran bloody because he had nowhere else to put the exceptional rage he kept in his very bones, how something as innocent as the kiss of the rain can rip him back to those times, to claws raking the base of his scalp, to the scent of thunderstorms so suffocating, Inuyasha felt he might drown in it.

Inuyasha wanted to say so much, to yell it, to scream his fury until his lungs pushed out air that felt like daggers against his throat instead of the tired tremble that escaped him through the clench of his teeth.

“I wish I ain’t never _fucking_ met you _.”_

The air was completely still, nothing but the jagged edges of Inuyasha’s breathing disturbing the falsehood of peace surrounding them. Inuyasha didn’t remember when he stopped struggling against Sesshomaru, hadn’t remembered stilling, hadn’t remembered giving up.

And then that look; Sesshomaru’s eyebrows knitted, eyes bright, searching through his confusion.

“Foolish.” He stated, “I have done more for you than anyone in this world.”

Inuyasha let out a shock of laughter, a guttural noise that sounded more animal than human; wild. When he spoke next, it was with eyes unseeing, scenes fighting to play in his head—memories.

“Yeah?” he croaked, “I wish you had let me fucking die.” 

Sesshomaru was motionless above him, firm and immobile with an expression that went unriddled by the confession and Inuyasha’s skin was crawling with it now—the scent of him, the weight of him—and the memories were almost involuntary then, the flood of happenings Inuyasha had tried so hard to bury, so hard to forget, rushing back into the forefront and climbing up his throat like a living thing.

“I wish you had let them goddamn _starve_ _me_ ,” he spat suddenly, his heart hammering, his limbs seeming to vibrate with it, “I wish you’d of minded your own goddamn business and let me fucking _freeze to death_ when I ran! Wish you woulda let the illness fucking have me—wish you woulda let me jump off that stupid fucking balcony!”

Inuyasha’s vision was blurring, voice hoarse with force, teeth grounding against each other like the weight of the world held them there.

There was a long stretch of nothing, where Inuyasha tried to remember to breathe, tried to make his mind stop jumping, tried to still the trembling in his limbs. 

When Sesshomaru next spoke, it was with his voice as a movement against Inuyasha’s skin, with the pale of his eyes a menacing calm as he watched Inuyasha, as he studied him.

"You will not die until I permit it.”

Inuyasha blinked. And then the anger, as unpredictable as spring rain.

He was feral with it, the anger, the scowl painted across his expression hard enough to be made from stone. Inuyasha’s rage was like liquid heat, like his blood was set ablaze in his veins as he bucked, ripped, spat. The hilt of his sword was digging into his ribs, shoved there by his own body weight, sheathed at his side yet outside his reach—an immobile reminder of what he was capable of if only freed. And in between his jerking movements, in-between the red, he saw Sesshomaru and he was reminded so acutely of how immovable the youkai lord was, how strong, how unyielding—everything Inuyasha had never been.  

He’d gritted his teeth so hard, he tasted blood.

Sesshomaru’s nose crinkled, his eyes snapping to Inuyasha’s lips, drawn to the smell of it, to the sight of Inuyasha’s fanged grimace tainted red. He’d moved forward a hair’s width, barely noticeable, barely enough for Inuyasha to buck forward, ramming his own skull directly into his counterpart.

Sesshomaru growled, surprise webbing across his expression as he tore himself away, leaping, releasing Inuyasha’s wrists reflexively and this was Inuyasha’s moment, his rage almost climatic as the metallic sound of his unsheathing his sword sung through the air.

Pain was exploding through his temple as Inuyasha sat, crouched, watching Sesshomaru’s looming frame triple in front of him, his nose dripping a stream of red across his lip. He could hear the rush of his own breathing as he held his weapon, unsteady, trembling even through the shake of his tilting vision and he curses himself then, knowing before he could even asses the scene in front of him that his attack had harmed himself infinitely more than it had Sesshomaru.

“Your survival beyond that teahouse is truly a wonder.”

There was his laugh again, low and primal, a dead sound from bloodied lips.

“What can’t I _survive?”_ Inuyasha spat, the word _survive_ like bile against his tongue. Somedays, it seemed all Inuyasha could do was continue, keep breathing, keep going, _survive_.

He could feel his weapon angling towards the ground, his muscles beginning to strain as he forced his head to calm, shook his head to rid it of the vertigo.

Sesshomaru remained above him, watching, considering. That look.

“I would have you taken away from these conditions.”

Inuyasha’s mind was thrown back—a wobbling first dance, Sesshomaru’s help, his hands gentle on Inuyasha’s waist. A backhand, the sharp split of a broken nose.

_I would have you taken away from this teahouse._

Inuyasha whipped his blade back forward, arm ramrod straight.

“The only thing you can take is my foot up your fucking ass, Sesshomaru.”

Sesshomaru’s eyes were bright with their searching as they looked down to Inuyasha, striped lids exposed, frown deepening. Then, the set of his brows, a decision nestled in the bed of his expression.

Inuyasha sniffed, trying to clear the blood from his nose, trying to clear the haze from his stare. He could hear his friends nearing, their steps growing stronger as time passed and all Inuyasha wanted was for Sesshomaru to disappear—would rather die than have everyone near this part of his life—near this part of his past.

But before he could do it, before he could figure out a way out Sesshomaru was there, on top of him, caging him to the ground and Inuyasha screamed, couldn’t keep up because--

Sesshomaru was _biting_ him.

His friends were screaming now—for Inuyasha, at Sesshomaru—their reactions too slow, their arrival too late to impact the happenings of things and Inuyasha was paralyzed with it; the pain. Sesshomaru’s fanged teeth stabbing through the bend of his neck, the sharp sting of splitting flesh tensing his body so tightly that he couldn’t move through the strain. And Inuyasha was whining then, involuntarily, his throat releasing an ear-piercing pitch without his consent, and he couldn’t see the forestry anymore—wasn’t with his friends with the protection of his blade clipped to his hip.  

He suddenly felt so small again, defenseless, with the burgundy of the teahouse walls all he could see, with the weight of Sesshomaru’s thrice larger frame all he could feel. His mind was jumping backwards, screening scenes behind his eyes, forcing him to recall the last time he’d been here—with Sesshomaru pinning him, with Sesshomaru sinking his teeth into the flesh of his neck, Sesshomaru snatching him, throwing him against the teahouse walls, betraying the trust Inuyasha had so freely given, destroying his naivety with a strangling hand at the back of his neck, with claws tearing into the skin of his hip.

And then it was over, gone just as suddenly as he had come, leaving nothing but wind, leaving nothing but Inuyasha crumpled on his back against the dense of the forestry, trembling, the palm of his hands bloody within his fists. Inuyasha felt like his blood was at a boil, felt the burn of a foreign object forcing itself through his veins, a fire under his skin. Someone was next to him now—Kagome, finally—shaking him, trying to get him to still, trying to get him to focus, but he couldn’t see them anymore.

He fell to unconsciousness before he could even regain his breath.

* * *

Flies were buzzing around him, the flight in their wings like a crowd’s applause in his ears. He swatted lazily, his arm like lead, his eyes attempting to flutter against the bone deep tired weighing them against each other.

His vision was blurred, like trying to open your eyes underwater, but he could make out the wood of a roof, the soft flicker of a flame bouncing against the walls. Kaede’s hut.

“Inuyasha…?”

Inuyasha startled, whipping into a seated position and almost immediately regretting it as his head swam, lightning rocketing around his skull.

“Oops…” Shippo continued, sitting on his hunches, leaning so closely forward, Inuyasha feared bumping into him at next inhale.

He groaned, letting his head fall into his hands, trying to calm the pulsating pain behind his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Shippo whispered, as if afraid that even the volume in his voice could hurt Inuyasha further.

Inuyasha sighed. He could feel the scab forming against the raw of his skin, his claws itching to scratch at the healing.

“I feel like somebody chopped my head off and took a shit down my neck.” He’d said, voice muffled against the palm of his hands.

“Oh.” Shippo responded, his breath hot, misting Inuyasha’s skin, “Kaede says you were poisoned—says that dog-demon was tryin’ to kill ya’.”

Inuyasha paused then, mind reeling.

Poisoned?

He’d known some demons to have venom in their bite, but …

Had Sesshomaru been trying to… kill him?

Inuyasha shook his head then, unconvinced. If Sesshomaru had been trying to kill him, he’d have never woken up.

“Your breath’s gonna kill me first.” He muttered, leaning against the wall then, head resting against the damp of the wood, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

Shippo was unphased.

“Was that your brother?”

Inuyasha choked on his own saliva.

“ _What?”_

“You guys look alike,” he continued, distracted now, lighting and relighting blue flames of fox fire atop clawed fingertips, “ _Well_ … he looks like a scarier, older, yet cooler version of you.”

Inuyasha sputtered, eyes widening to an impossible degree, jaw slack.

“ _Well_ …” Shippo said again, “He looks like what you would look like if you were a taller, more stronger, full-blooded— _OUCH!”_

“Shut the hell up, _brat!”_ Inuyasha started, fist cocked, ready to strike a second time.

 “Well, I’d hope he wasn’t your brother, _JERK!”_ Shippo wailed, rubbing the forming knot atop his forehead vigorously, “I don’t think brothers are supposed to do _that_ anyways!”

Inuyasha froze, face heating, fist still cocked in the air above their heads, “Do _what?”_

“The bite thing.” Shippo sniffled, “Duh.”

Inuyasha paused, eyes jumping, confusion clouding his mind before he’d heard footsteps approaching—the slow pitter patter of Kaede’s weathered path.

Shippo continued, “My mom said it’s something only adults do.”

Inuyasha could feel his heartbeat in his ears, a chill seeping into his spine, “Is… is that all she said?”

Kaede’s steps were nearing closer now, slow but steady.

Shippo paused, tone again a near whisper as he spoke “She said I’d find out when I was older.”

Inuyasha swallowed, eyes still trained on Shippo as Kaede entered, her basket of herbs making his nose twitch, making his eyes flick away, dropping to the dirt packed floor under his feet. He felt exposed, like everyone could see it now, Inuyasha’s past, what he really was—he should have _known_ that _of course_ the bite meant… something.

“Ye ought not be sitting up right like this, Inuyasha.” Kaede started, breath labored from the strain of her trip, “The poison may have been mild in quantity, but it is still present.”

Inuyasha obeyed without retort, shocking the rooms only occupants as he lay on his side atop the tatami mat as directed, watching the wood paneling of the walls as his mind thundered through a thousand thoughts a second.

He could hear Kaede as she paused, could feel her eyes on his back even before she spoke.

“Is ye still feeling ill, Inuyasha?”

Inuyasha let the silence sit, his lip between his teeth, eyes jumping as he tried to control the panic spreading across his senses.

Shippo shuffled from behind him, “He feels like somebody chopped off his head and took a shit down his neck.”

The smokeless scent of fox fire began to ribbon into the air again, the silence returning with it. No one moved.

“Where’s Kagome,” he’d said, finally.

“She went down the well to get you medicines!” Shippo piqued, “She told me not to leave your side until she got back—told me to protect you!”

Inuyasha snorted, letting his eyes flutter closed at that, “Lucky me.”

He tried to sleep. He couldn’t keep his eyes closed more than ten minutes at a time.

* * *

Sesshomaru had been following them. Not all the time, but often enough. The others didn’t seem to notice. It was only ever Inuyasha, only ever him who would sense it—the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, his nose twitching, searching for that too familiar scent to ride in atop a soft wind.

Inuyasha hated it, hated the thought of Sesshomaru so close to them, so close to all he had in the entire world.

But as close as he’d be, he’d never reveal himself like he’d done the day of the bite. He’d remain just out of reach, hidden from view, on the outskirts of Inuyasha’s consciousness; a phantom itch he couldn’t scratch.

Inuyasha _hated_ it.

* * *

The season was changing. There was a bite in the air not there the night prior. The others were sprinkled all around him, blankets to their chins. Inuyasha sat upright, watching the cackle of the campfire, listening to Kagome’s shallow breath as she feigned sleep a few feet away, her shoulders tensed near to her ears.

Inuyasha gave it a few moments more, the silence made louder by her obvious discomfort, her poorly disguised anxiety making his eye twitch.

“Oi,” he muttered, voice soft, “What’s your problem?”

She shuffled, turning to him with her hair falling every which way, mussed with static. Inuyasha snorted, watching her as she fidgeted, as she fumbled her words.

“You’re scaring me.”

Inuyasha blanched, “I’m _what?”_

 _“Scaring me.”_ She whispered, her tone a hiss, “You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you barely talk anymore—you’ve been like a freakin’ _zombie_ for like a week now!”

He looked down almost immediately then, face heating, the purple bloom of the bruise he knew to be still painted upon the juncture of his neck itching under his robes, as if awakened by the accusation.

“Feh,” he muttered, eyes roaming the patches of grass poking between his toes, “Mind your own business, wench.”

She continued, “Is this about your brother?”

“Holy fuck, I hate all of you.”

“Well, _is it?”_

 _“No!”,_ Inuyasha snapped, the response softened by the hush in his tone, by the blush staining his cheeks.

There was a moment of nothing, the silence stretching between them as Inuyasha gnawed on his bottom lip, claws digging into the skin of his palms.

“You know that you can talk to me?” she started, “If you want.”

He looked to her then, expression softening. Her stare was soft upon him, the greys of her eyes warm with concern; with care.

He wished…

“What if… what if I told you I’m not who you think I am?” he asked, eyes trained on her now, focused, heart hammering against his ribcage.

“I think you’re Inuyasha,” she said, blinking, “You’ll always be that to me, no matter what. That’s enough, right?”

Inuyasha’s chest warmed, just a little. He felt his lips smirk, a small smile he hadn’t felt in weeks ghosting across his features. There were pebbles nestled in the grass below and he plucked one, allowed the hard of it to roll between his fingertips.

“Keh,” he began, tossing it at her, watching her surprised giggle as it bounced off of her forehead and back into the dirt, “Sleep already, would ya?”

She poked her tongue out at him before relenting, before twisting back around in her coverings; satisfied and unbothered.

And Inuyasha tried to hang on to it, the peace, the lighthearted feeling of acceptance she’d given him—the word _enough_ echoing within his head.

_I think you’re Inuyasha._

_That’s enough, right?_

* * *

Koga knew.

He’d clambered up to them, all wind and debris lost within his tornado of movement, to Kagome first, predictably. Then ocean blue eyes glancing to the rest of them, his grin lopsided and cocky.

But when he’d gotten to Inuyasha, his eyes went not to the hanyou himself but instead immediately to the bite—face contorting, brows knitted, And after the pause, he’d looked to Inuyasha with his eyes jumping, searching, looking for something Inuyasha didn’t know; an answer Inuyasha didn’t have.

Inuyasha gritted his teeth so hard, he felt the strain in his jaw.

It was Miroku who broke the silence, telling of their reason for nearing the wolf clan—gesturing to the glass vial dangling from Kagome’s neck, to the near complete jewel held within. And Koga recovered quickly, looking away from Inuyasha at last, shaking his head of it before agreeing, before laughing it off; _better them now than Naraku later._

And Inuyasha felt as though his skin was going to crawl from his flesh, felt like there were a thousand eyes on him as they walked back to the human village. He thinks that there couldn’t be anything worse than talking to someone—talking to someone who _knows_ —about the bite. Then, he thinks walking around with a message around his neck everyone in the goddamn world seemed to understand but him might be a close second.

It was night by the time they’d made it through the forestry. He’d hardly heard the sharp _click_ of Kaede’s shoji sliding closed behind the others before he bolted, his path already wilted by steps already taken.

* * *

Koga had been waiting, arms crossed atop the dark leather of his breastplate. He was a silhouette against the black of the night air, his eyes like the blue of Shippo’s fox fire, glowing through the shadows.

“Miss me already?” he’d quipped, expression curious. There was a flash of fang in the darkness as he grinned, “You always run like a fucking elephant? Near woke the whole—”

“Tell me what the hell this is.”

Koga stopped. He paused a moment, grin dropping into a sort of frown Inuyasha couldn’t quite put an emotion to.

“How’d you get it?” he’d said finally, tone guarded here.

Inuyasha could feel his shoulders tensing, his fists beginning to curl like they did when he felt like putting a hole through anything close enough to grab.

He didn’t respond. Koga seemed to know anyway.

“You know… when I was a pup, my best friend was the runt of the litter.” He’d said, molten blue stare never leaving his counterpart, “All the other guys used to fuck with ‘em. Trip him up, take his furs, and all that. Once we got to training age, I don’t think he ended a single spar without being the one on the ground. Didn’t even know a guy could bleed that much and still be standin’. So finally, I asked my pa could they take him out the class—told him it was because he was my friend, told him I ain’t wanna keep seeing him knocked down like that. But the truth about it was, I was embarrassed for him. He was fucking _weak_. But my old man wouldn’t hear it. He knew what I was saying—what I was _really_ saying… And you know what he told me?” he paused here, expression more serious than Inuyasha had ever seen it, “He’d asked me was he weak for falling down or strong for enduring it? Asked me was their anybody else on that entire playing field who I thought could get back up as much as he had?”

The sounds of the forest dominated the air again, the absence of voice amplifying the rustle in the trees, the _chirp_ of the critters nestled in the dirt. Inuyasha felt naked, like those icy blue irises were staring into everything about himself he’d tried so hard to keep hidden—staring directly at the past he tried so hard to forget.

“Keh—What’s your fucking point?” he’d said, statement weakened by the crack in his tone, by the trembling in his limbs.

Koga glanced away, eyes unseeing for a breaths time. Inuyasha could practically hear his brain working as he churned his words within his own head. When He'd looked back to him, his stare went again to the column of Inuyasha’s neck, reading his scars like they were scripted by hand—two angry risen crescents of a welt just high enough upon his neck to peak out over the red of his haori.

“I’m sayin’… There’s a special kind of strength that comes from surviving. And… and I think you survived a hell of a lot more than the rest of us.”

The word _survive_ echoed within his head again. Inuyasha’s fists clenched tight enough to break.

“The mark is a warning.” He’d answered, finally, his eyes never leaving it, “A bite to brand you, a dose of poison to ensure it ain’t goin’ nowhere. Whoever did it claimed you. And whoever sees it better act accordingly.”

* * *

Inuyasha scratched, ripped, tore at his own skin—preferring to mutilate himself before wearing that _bastard’s_ claim around his neck for even a second more. He gritted his teeth until his gums were screaming, tearing a piece of skin the size of his palm from his own throat, blood nightmarishly splattering—spotting his cheeks, smearing his hands, pooling atop the bend of his neck into his shoulder. His heartbeat was ramming itself against his ribcage, like a crow was trapped within the hollows of his chest.

The scarring went to the muscle, fang marks reaching depths within his flesh that his claws could ever touch—couldn’t gouge out, couldn’t rid of.

His body repaired itself not two nights later. Sesshomaru’s claim remained.

* * *

Kagome’d left for the last time on a day with the sun high in the sky and the petals on the trees making the air thick with perfume. They’d defeated Naraku in a battle that lasted so long, they’d seen the sun disappear, be replaced by the full of the moon, then reappear again. Inuyasha doesn’t ever remember bleeding so much.

Even so, seeing her last backwards glance as she sat atop the aged wood of the bone-eaters well wounded deeper than anything he’d ever experienced.

All was righted again.

And yet, Inuyasha felt a sadness to his core. He’d never felt so tired.

He’d never felt like life was so incredibly _unfair_ more than in that moment.

* * *

Thirteen moons had passed since he’d last seen Sesshomaru. His claim remained.

* * *

Inuyasha had been roaming. He’d left Sango and Miroku so many nights ago, he’d lost track. He couldn’t take the black jealousy he’d felt growing thicker in his heart each time he witnessed them—their happiness, the gentle swell of her middle, quickening with child.

Their happily ever after.

He thought to Kagome, his mind filling him with images of the grey of her eyes, the smirk of her lips; as he often did. He thought to Kikyo, to the crippling pain of her arrow through his heart and out again, pinning him to the rough wood of the goshiki. He thought to his mother. His heart hurt so much, he wanted to scream.

The gritted path he was walking began to lighten, the grass spreading to nothing, exposing the brown of the earth beneath. A cliff, he realized. He was atop a cliff. His pace quickened. The ground seemed to be a thousand miles away as he peeked over what seemed to be the edge of the world.

Inuyasha wondered how it would feel to fly.

Then, how it would feel to fall.

He didn’t know which he’d preferred.

He remembered staying at a monastery when they’d traveled during the days of Naraku. They’d all gathered around a stoned fire, the warm flames licking their bodies, creating a glow about the room. Everyone seemed so content as they sipped their onion soups, heads shaven and shining in the candlelight. Inuyasha sat among them, listening, sipping the sweetness of the broth and observing the peace that seemed to blanket the space. One of the monks talked about sort of… becoming someone else after death. Like you kind of started over.

Inuyasha stared to the rocky waters at the bottom of this leap.

He didn’t think becoming someone new sounded too bad.


End file.
